Parva scintilla saepe magnam flamam excitat
by Nariko Cooper
Summary: AU/PU. A great fire is often ignited by a small spark. Everything changed the day her father nearly died in his arms.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

In the kitchen, a young woman with blond hair cut boyishly short was readying a tea tray when she heard knocking at the door.

"Ms Vanier! Can you answer that for me?"

"Already am, Riza," was the older woman's reply.

Riza set the kettle to boil on the stove and smoothed her rust coloured skirt before hurrying out to see who was visiting in this dreadful weather.

When she reached the main foyer, she found the middle-aged housekeeper blushing like a schoolgirl. Standing in the doorframe was a dark haired man wearing the soldier's royal blue uniform under a soaking wet overcoat.

He actually came, she thought, but why did he have to wear the uniform?

"Father's not going to be pleased, Mr Mustang."

"Miss Riza," he said with a shallow yet theatrical bow. "How many times have I told you to call me 'Roy'?"

"Many times, Mr Mustang. I take it you've introduced yourself to Ms Vanier?" she asked as she waved him into the warm living room.

"Yes."

"Then it's past time you get out of that wet coat. What were you thinking riding in this horrid weather?"

"I thought Jun and I would arrive before the rain," he said as he slipped off the garment in question and draped it over the back of a chair. "By the way, I took the liberty of settling her in the stall across from Wulf's."

Jun, short for Junker, was the mare his aunt had gifted him on his eighteenth birthday.

"Anyway," he continued, "we had only another half a kilometre to go when the skies opened up and decided to pour buckets down on us." He plucked at his damp uniform. "The quartermaster promised me that the coat would be waterproof, too."

"Clearly it isn't," Riza commented and excused herself before dashing back into the kitchen to pour the water from the whistling kettle into the teapot. She added another cup to the tray and brought it out with her.

When she returned, Riza saw that Sara had dealt with the coat-that-was-supposed-to-be-waterproof and was now hunting up a towel for the man. She shifted her gaze to Roy who was standing by one of the braziers. He had taken off his uniform jacket as well and had rolled up the sleeves of his button-up shirt. The jacket was drying in front of another brazier and she couldn't help but note that his shoulders were broader than they were two years ago and gone were the remnants of baby fat. As she walked past him she subtly compared their height and confirmed that, in addition to all the other changes, he was now half a head taller than her.

"I think you should stop growing now," she said as he sat down to dry his hair. When he emerged from the vigorous toweling, she handed him a cup of tea. "I'm going to get a crick in my neck if you get any taller."

"I'm not _that_ tall."

"Well, you—"

Riza heard a series of coughs coming from her father's study and quickly left with the tea tray, leaving Roy in the care of the housekeeper.

* * *

"I take it Master Hawkeye's health hasn't improved?" asked Roy.

Sara was silent for a moment, then she glanced up the stairs and shrugged as if she had just finished an internal debate.

"For the past week," she told him, "he's developed this cough that, no matter what we did, it wouldn't go away."

As if to prove her point, the coughing upstairs stopped for a moment, then resumed. And, if it was even possible, worse than before.

"This morning when his coughing fits started, they didn't stop for a good five minutes."

She paused when the the Hawkeyes' muffled voices drifted down the stairs and Roy caught "sick" and "doctor". Shaking her head, she continued. "We tried to convince him to summon the doctor, but he refused. You know how hard-headed the two of them can be. Finally, Riza told him that if he continued coughing like this, she would have Doctor Ganz come over regardless of what he thought."

Riza descended the stairs and Sara took the tray from her hands.

"Should I send a message to the doctor and ask him to come over?" the older woman asked asked.

Cheeks still flushed, Riza gave a jerky nod. "Yes. That would be good. Before Father thinks to roast the pigeons would be best."

Their housekeeper gave her a pat on the arm and went to contact the doctor.

"Father wants to see you."

He was surprised and it must have shown on his face because what she said next sounded like an accusation.

"You did come here to see him, didn't you?"

He set down his tea and stood in front of her. Now that he's had a good look at her, she look much more tired than the last time he had seen her three years ago.

"That wasn't the only reason," he answered. Since she hadn't backed away, he lifted his hand to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. "You know that."

He watched as the anger slid off her face only to be replaced by surprise and embarrassment when she understood what his cryptic answer meant. Not too hard considering that during his time here the only other person other was her.

Knowing he had made her uncomfortable, he stepped back and pulled on his jacket which was now pleasantly warm. As he turned toward the stairs, Riza's hand rested on his forearm, effectively halting him.

"Try to convince him to rest." Her voice was calmer now, but he could still hear the worry in it. "He's been in there all day."

"I don't know if he'll listen to me any better than he did you," he warned. "But I'll try."

Riza nodded and Roy made his way up the stairs to Master Berthold Hawkeye's study on the second floor, the floorboards beneath his feet silent. He thought of everything that had happened since returning to the Hawkeye's after graduating from the Academy. He had been pleased to know that he was now half a head taller than Riza. She had nothing to worry about; he'd stopped growing last year.

When he had first arrived at the Hawkeyes'—had it really been nine years?—he was a bit shorter than Riza. By the time he had left to join the army, he was about a finger's width taller than her. Now, he could see over Riza's head and that was tall enough for him.

The door was open when Roy reached it and he entered the room. Light from the setting sun slipped between the gaps of the heavy curtains. The light from the oil lamps were the main source of light for the room.

The pile of books that laid haphazardly in the corner, out of the way but still within easy reach, was a familiar sight even if the books themselves weren't the same. Other than that, the rest of the room was tidy – scrolls neatly rolled up and stacked on a set of shelves, the surfaces free of dust. Riza's doing, Roy thought. Unless his teacher changed his preferences in the two years he had been gone, the only person allowed to touch his notes and research materials was his daughter. Even Roy was forbidden from touching things in this room.

Master Hawkeye had set his pen down when Roy walked in and spoke only when Roy stopped in front of his desk.

"So, you've become a soldier after all, Roy."

"Yes, Master." If he hadn't heard him coughing earlier, he would have thought that his teacher was perfectly fine. "Though I eventually plan to take the State Alchemists' exam and work as an alchemist for my country."

"As I thought," Berthold murmured, "it's still too early for you to have flame alchemy."

"Still?" Roy couldn't control the sudden outcry. Roy recomposed himself and continued. "Master, you've already taught me the basics of alchemy. All that's left is flame alchemy."

"Of course. But even the fundamental concepts have been wasted on someone who would degrade himself to become a dog of the military."

"'Alchemy is for the people.' You taught me this. By being useful to the military I can be useful to the people. The threats from neighbouring countries – the military needs to be strong and alchemy is—"

"Don't give me that rhetoric."

"Master, as knowledgeable as you are, it would be easy for you to become a State Alchemist. Someone of your caliber shouldn't live like this," Roy gestured at the old walls and equally old windows. "If you become a State Alchemist and accept the issued research funds, your research would—"

"That won't be necessary."

He set down his pen and leaned back on his chair, his eyes staring far into the distance.

"My research has been perfected a long time ago. Very powerful, it is."

His teacher closed his eyes as if to relive the moment he knew that all his years of research had finally borne fruit. That he had created something that would—could—never be forgotten.

"Depending on how it is used," he continued, his eyes still closed, "it could bring death and destruction. It was perfect," Berthold repeated, "and before long, I stopped seeking. Alchemists, Roy, are creatures who live as long as they continue to seek the truth. The moment he stops seeking is the moment he dies."

Master Hawkeye opened his eyes and they bore into Roy's.

"That is why I'm a man who died a long time ago."

"Don't say such things. If you would use that power—"

"Power?"

Master Hawkeye muffled a cough and when he spoke again, his voice was raspy and thin. "So it's power you want, Roy?"

And then coughed up blood.

"Master Hawkeye!"

Roy rushed to his teacher's side and for the first time since the day his parents died, felt utterly useless.

"Riza! Is that doctor here yet?" he shouted.

"I don't need a doctor," Master Hawkeye got out before another coughing fit shook his entire frame.

"Master, _this_," he indicated the blood Berthold had coughed up,_ "_calls for a doctor, don't you think?" but his master was too busy coughing to reply. "Riza!?"

Roy got his left shoulder under Master Hawkeye's arm and half carried, half dragged the older man out into the hall.

Roy heard footsteps and saw Riza and a man Roy believed to be the doctor close behind her.

"Father!"

She took her father's right side and, between the two of them, carried her semi-conscious father into his room across from his study.

"Let me up," croaked the alchemist.

Alright, Roy amended, mostly conscious then.

Everyone looked at Berthold who was now trying to brush Roy off with little success.

"Father, you were coughing up blood. That is reason enough for you to be in bed and not in your study."

"How long has he been like this?" Ganz asked.

Riza recited what Sara had told Roy earlier and added that Master Hawkeye had some chest pains when breathing and coughing.

After seeing the glare that Berthold and Riza sent back and forth, Roy decided that laughing right now would be tantamount to suicide, he opted to tell the doctor his observations; at least that way the bedridden Hawkeye couldn't kill him.

"He was fine up until he coughed up blood. I think he has a fever, too."

"I see. Alright then, run along you two. I think Ms Vanier said that the soup was almost ready."

When both he and Riza remained in place, the doctor heaved a put-upon sigh.

"Why do they all have to be so stubborn?"

"Riza. Roy."

Both were surprised that even with all that coughing, Master Hawkeye's voice could still slice through the room.

"Out."

Riza exchanged a look with Roy and without another word, they left the room.

* * *

Berthold observed the doctor his daughter had summoned with a wary eye. Yes, he liked Samuel Ganz as a person, and on some days, even as a friend but he would never like those of his profession.

"What's the verdict? Am I going to die?" he asked dryly.

"Hmm. Not quite yet, my friend," the doctor said with a frown as he stowed away his instruments of torture and gave Berthold's upper arm a pat. "You'll be around for some time if I have any say in it. You have pneumonia, Berthold. I don't know how you caught it, but if I hadn't been called today, you could have died."

"Died?"

"Yes, Berthold, died. I'm going to write you a prescription. Follow the instructions to the letter and I promise you, you'll be right as rain in no time," Ganz told him briskly.

"I hate the rain."

"No matter. You're going to be in bed resting for the next couple of weeks or until I deem fit. I'll tell your daughter and son-in-law everything, so you just rest and let them fuss over you for the next little while."

Berthold felt his eyebrows come together in confusion.

"Did you mean Roy, by any chance, when you said son-in-law?"

"Yes, I suppose I did. Isn't he?"

"No, dear Truth, no." The thought of Roy being his son-in-law startled a laugh from him. "He's just a student of mine."

Berthold surprised himself again with that last sentence. It appears he has chosen his heir to flame alchemy after all.

* * *

First uploaded: MAY 14, 2014  
Updated: JUN 21, 2014


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Riza eyed the simmering small pot of herbs the doctor had provided to help reduce her father's fever. Typical doctor's brew, she thought, and Father's not going to like it.

"What are you looking for?"

Riza looked up from her rummaging for a moment to see Sara take out bowls from the cupboard and set them down on a tray with a small basket of bread before returning to her search.

"The Xingese prunes Father likes with his medicine. Ah! Found them."

Riza pulled out the small stone jar containing the small wrinkled prunes and, to her dismay, counted only twelve. A problem, she told herself, but not the end of the world.

She closed the pantry door and placed the jar on a smaller tray Sara had set aside for her father.

"The guest room is ready, but I've left the window open to air it out some more. I also took the liberty of moving Lieutenant Mustang's saddle bags into his room."

"Thank you, Ms Vanier. Will you sit down and eat with us?"

"No, that's alright, Riza. I think I'm going to spend some time in the stables. That mare is a prime specimen of her species."

"Alright, Ms Vanier," Riza laughed as the older woman made her way out of the kitchen, muttering about familiar looking hind quarters and gorgeous colouring. Sara Vanier née Marshall came from a family that dealt with horses, in one way or another, for many generations and it didn't surprise Riza in the least that Jun caught the older woman's eye. Junker and Wulf share the same grandsire who just so happened to come from the Marshall's stables.

Shaking her head, Riza picked up the ladle and filled the two bowls the older woman had left on the tray.

Roy had seated himself at the dining room table when she walked in, his uniform jacket neatly draped over the back of his chair. He murmured his thanks when she set his bowl in front of him. Riza took her seat across from his and they ate their soup in silence.

After five spoonfuls, worry over her father's health wormed its way out of the compartment she'd stuffed it in. Not willing to linger over things she could not control, Riza fiddled with her spoon and asked Roy a question as a distraction.

"When do you have to report back to your post, Mr Mustang?"

"Under normal circumstances, I would have only two weeks leave," Roy told her, "but since I have decided to take the State Alchemist Examinations in the spring, I'll have six months off to prepare for the exam."

Half a year to prepare. "That much time? Why?"

"A number of reasons. The first being the amount of information an alchemist is tested on." He lifted his right hand and raised a finger for each subject, "Amestrian law, military protocol, alchemical knowledge and alchemy demonstration.

"The military doesn't have many soldiers who are alchemists," he continued, "so if one of them decides that he wants to take the exam, he's given the time need to prepare for it. I think their belief is that an alchemist with military background will understand what's needed of him when discussing military options whereas State Alchemists without military background would be useless out in the field. They would be sitting ducks, a reliability rather than help, nothing more than glorified researchers."

Roy scooped up some vegetables and stared at them for a moment as if they held all the answers in the universe.

"I plan to be of more use to my country," he finally said, "than just that of a researcher."

He had graduated at the top of his class, she remembered from the letter he had written. That would have guaranteed, eventually, a high rank in the military even if he didn't go for his State Alchemist certification.

They heard the creaking of the stairs and all the worry came rushing back as if it had never left – maybe it never did.

They stood, but the doctor waved for them to stay in their seats.

"Everything is alright," Ganz informed them as he sat down opposite of Roy.

"How can coughing up blood be alright?" Riza asked incredulously.

"Sorry, poor choice of words. How about he will be alright? Your father caught pneumonia. How he could possibly have caught it is beyond me. As long as you ensure that he follows my instructions, I expect him to make a full recovery within three weeks."

As Dr Ganz detailed what they could do to help Master Hawkeye make a quick recovery – plenty of rest, fluids and, if possible, increased oxygen concentration – a bowl of soup materialised by his elbow. Ms Vanier must have returned while we were talking, Riza thought. As the conversation began to wind down, she excused herself and went to bring her father his own bowl of soup.

* * *

As Roy helped the doctor get his grey gelding saddled, Ganz reminded him to pick up the penicillin from his office the next day and start dosing the older alchemist. By the time the doctor was on his way, the rain had been reduced to a fine mist and Roy heaved a sigh of relief.

He'll be fine, Roy thought. The tight knots in his stomach loosened as he let the knowledge that Berthold Hawkeye would be fine sink in.

Roy closed his eyes and tipped his head back against one of the wooden beams that held up the veranda.

He heard Riza's soft footfalls and the soft rattling of a spoon in an empty bowl and opened his eyes.

She looked tired and her short, blond hair was sticking out at odd angles as if she'd run her hands through them more than once since he'd last seen her.

"How is he?" he asked once she was within hearing distance.

"He's asleep." Riza told him. As she walked past him and into the kitchen to set the bowls in the sink, something at the base of her neck caught his eye.

"Riza?"

"Hmm?" She set a kettle on the stove to boil.

"What's that on your neck?"

Her hand shot up and covered the exposed flesh and just as quickly, was dropped to her side.

"It's nothing." she told him quickly and turned back to the stove, missing the glare she sent her.

"It's red as if you'd touched it with a hot skillet."

She ignored his comment and busied herself by moving one pot from the stove to the counter and another from the draining board to a cabinet beneath the counter.

"Ms Vanier aired out your old room and brought up your saddlebags," she told him as she removed two cups from the cupboard and scooped tea leaves into a small teapot. "Just remember to close the window before going to bed."

If she didn't want to talk about it, they wouldn't talk about it and Roy let the subject drop.

When the kettle whistled, she made the tea and let it steep a little before serving it. Roy accepted his cup with a murmur of thanks.

"I meant to say this before," she said when she took a seat across from his. "Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me."

"I did say I would return once I graduated."

That and her last letter had worried him. Her fear for her father's health was a tangible thing when he read the letter.

Roy hesitated for a moment, then reached across the table and placed his hands over hers. She looked up, her brown eyes finally meeting his black ones. "Master Hawkeye is important to me," he told her, "_You_ are important to me."

Riza's hands tensed under his.

"You shouldn't say things like that, Mr Mustang," she told him. She tugged her hands free and went over to the sink and began cleaning the dishes. "You'll give ladies the wrong idea and then where would you be?"

Roy got up and spun her around to face him.

"I mean what I say, Riza."

A shake of her head. "I don't think that's wi—"

He didn't let her finish the sentence. He kissed her and felt her stiffened, but a heartbeat later, she was returning his kiss.

"Riza, I – Oh, dear."

Both of them turned to see Sara standing by the door.

"Sorry." The older woman was trying to hide a smile and failing. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

Roy felt the tips of his ears heating with embarrassment and both he and Riza took a step back.

"It's alright." She cleared her throat and he saw that her cheeks were flushed and her lips slightly swollen. "Did Father need something?"

"No, no. He's still sleeping. I just wanted to tell you I'm going to head back home now that it has stopped raining."

"I'll walk you home, Ms Vanier," Roy told her, embarrassment forgotten.

"No, it's quite alright," she protested vehemently.

"I insist."

Before Sara could make another protest, Riza spoke. "Ms Vanier, it would give us a peace of mind to know that you got home safely. Have Wulf and Jun saddled," she added, "that way it'll be faster and both of you will be out of the worst of the mud."

Roy watched as Sara's resolve crack at the mention of the horses and hid a smile.

"I don't want to trouble you..."

"It's no trouble," he and Riza replied at the same time.

Riza ducked into the living room and procured his now mostly dry coat.

"I'll stay and keep an eye on Father and give him his medicine while you take Ms Vanier home." Riza told him and handed him his coat.

"Alright," he replied, shrugging into it and headed for the side door. "I'll be back soon."

Sara was the Hawkeyes' closest neighbour, but close was a relative term. Ten minutes was how long it took to reach her home. During those ten minutes, Roy learned that she had been widowed three years ago and was now living with her younger brother and his family.

"Marta and I thought it would be nice to spend our winter in Aerugo," she told him as they neared her home.

"It is very nice down there at this time of year. Have you told Riza yet?"

She shook her head. "It was more of an idea and we still need to run it by Will, but I don't think it will take much to convince him. That brother of mine hasn't had a proper vacation since his honeymoon and that was years ago. The farm can practically run itself in his absence."

"I'm sure your niece would enjoy that trip as well."

"She would." They stopped at the front steps to her home and she handed Roy Wulf's reins after she smoothly dismounted from the side-saddle. She sprang up the stairs like a girl half her age and gave the brass knocker a light rap. She turned around and executed a shallow curtsy. "Thank you for the escort," she said as a man – her brother judging by his age – opened the door. "That was very kind of you."

"It was no problem, Ms Vanier." He waited until the door closed before he clicked his tongue and urged Wulf and Jun to lead them back to the Hawkeye's.

Though the full moon provided sufficient light for the horses, Roy held the lantern he carried ahead of him. Roy didn't trust the buggers not to walk near a low hanging branch. As if she heard his thoughts, Jun tossed her head and looked at him with one large brown eye that clearly said, "Would I really do that to you?"

"Yes, you would," he snapped. "Now, eyes on the road, young lady!"

He lifted the lantern a little higher and swerved just in time to avoid the low hanging branch he knew she purposely walked under.

He glared at her, but she continued walking as if nothing happened. He heard a whicker on his left and glanced at Jun's cousin. "No comments from the peanut gallery."

There were no further incidents after that, and despite the constant vigilance he had to maintain to stay seated on his horse, he found his thoughts had eventually, and unerringly, drifted to Riza.

* * *

Back at the house, Riza stood out on the kitchen porch and breathed in the cool evening air. The kitchen smelled too strongly of the bitter herbs that brought back unpleasant memories of the months before her mother died. She had been four at the time, but she felt her father's tension and fear.

Reminding herself that the doctor said her father would be well soon, she shook her head and returned to the kitchen. The pot of what the doctor called 'a variation of Willow Bark tea' should have cooled sufficiently and she carried it up to her father's room.

She had hoped that by concentrating hard on keeping the liquid from spilling her mind wouldn't wander to the kiss they'd shared in the kitchen, but it did anyway.

She knew he had meant to shut her up and to prove his point with the kiss, and it did very effectively. His kiss had been gentle, completely contradictory to the tone of the conversation and his actions. She'd forgotten what she was going to say the moment his lips touched hers.

She reached the top of the stairs and was aghast by the path her thoughts had taken. They sounded like something straight out of a romance novel, but what they represented was what terrified her.

Unlike her father's other apprentices, she actually enjoyed his company, but she had been able to keep herself from caring because she knew he would eventually leave, one way or another. That kiss made her feel things best left unfelt. These feelings held the potential to finish off what her mother started when she died. He told her himself that he wouldn't be satisfied unless he was on the front lines. Riza didn't think she would survive in a world that didn't have Roy Mustang in it. She had seen what it had done to her father; she didn't want to become a shadow of herself and cause pain to those who relied on her.

Why did he have to go and complicate everything? she wondered as she opened the door to her father's room.

The lamp was dim, but it was bright enough for Riza to see the shadows exaggerate the lines across his face, piling more years on him than he could claim.

"Riza."

His voice startled her and she realised that her attention had drifted.

"I have some medicine, Father." She set the tray on his bedside table. "It should reduce your fever."

"Let's get it over with." He sat up and with a bit of help was leaning against the headboard. "I don't suppose Ganz made it any better tasting since the last time?" her father asked when she picked up the bowl.

"I don't think so, but I found these," she tilted her head at the small jar on the tray and he turned to look at it.

His face light up like a child's on the morning after winter solstice when he removed the lid.

"Well, well, well," he muttered. "Twelve? That won't do. I'll need to write to Chen Wei and have him send more of them." He reluctantly exchanged the jar for the bowl, took a tentative sip and made a face. Then, in less than two seconds, he drained the rest of it. He accepted the proffered prune and popped it into his mouth with a contented sigh.

"What happened to Roy?"

"He's escorting Ms Vanier home. He should be back soon."

"Something is bothering you, what is it?" her father asked and indicated for her to sit in the chair beside his bed. She did and was puzzled. Her father had never bothered to notice, let alone ask, if something was bothering her. Since she lacked of practice of sharing her personal thoughts and problems with her father, she didn't.

"Three years ago, you told Mr Mustang to never set foot in this house again. Yet you had me send him to your office earlier. Why?"

"You know you can call him Roy. I know he doesn't mind if you call him by his first name."

She blinked at his response, not quite believing what she was hearing. What happened to the man who told her not to be too familiar with his apprentices? Granted, Roy fell under the category of former apprentices, but that should make the order even more important, not less. But what caused him to change his mind? Unless…

"You're avoiding my question," she stated and her eyes narrowing when she saw she was right. "Why?" she repeated.

Her father let out a sigh. "It's complicated, Riza."

"Then uncomplicate it," she demanded. She knew he would not lie to her. A man who spent more than half his life dedicated to seeking for truth didn't lie. Though he would bend it to a pretzel, she qualified.

The silence swelled until he turned to face her fully, his face set. But before he said anything, they heard the clatter of hooves on stone.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the relief sweep across her father's face.

"Go keep Roy company downstairs," he said.

If he thought she was going to let it go, just like that, he had another think coming.

"Alright, keep the complication to yourself," Riza conceded, "but you _will _tell me."

A resigned nod before he turned to his side and settled down to sleep. "Now go."

She left, taking the tray with her to the kitchen before heading out to the stables to help Roy settle the horses for the night.

* * *

First uploaded: MAY 27, 2014  
Updated: JUN 21, 2014


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

After two weeks of being restricted to his bed, there was no mistaking it: Berthold Hawkeye was bored out of his wits. Riza supposed she would be too if she was stuck in bed with nothing to do other than eat, sleep, read and try to convince her daughter and former apprentice that she was healthy enough to fight of a few bears.

Riza sighed as she carefully swept up the small pile of ashes. Yes, she supposed she would be tempted to set something on fire – maybe the uncomfortable straight-backed wooden chair – but never in her right mind would she have turned the bookcase to ash.

"Father, you do realise that you just incinerated _all _of your alchemy books that were on that bookcase, yes?"

"I've been meaning to get rid of them for years and they were collecting dust."

It took her a moment to realise that her father had just made a joke, but even when she did, she wasn't entirely sure how she should respond.

He must have found her confusion very amusing because he burst into uncontrollable laughter. Strange as it was, his laughter was starting to become less strange.

"Not all of them, silly girl. The important ones are safe on that shelf." He pointed at the untouched shelf to the right of the pile of ash. "Everything is fine," he reassured, but Riza didn't feel very reassured.

"Well, is there anything else you wish to burn that you haven't told me yet, sir?" she asked dryly.

"No, no. Not at the moment."

She froze in her tidying up, her attention caught by his odd phrasing of words.

"I'm going to teach Roy flame alchemy."

Riza turned and met Berthold's steady gaze and knew he was serious.

"You'll teach him, even though he's joined the army?"

"Would you have picked him had I died that day?"

"I wouldn't know, Father. You didn't die that day, so my decision is moot."

Berthold just leaned back and smiled a knowing smile and Riza understood that he was giving her the explanation he had avoided two weeks ago.

Riza sat down in the chair next to his bed and answered his question.

"Yes. I don't trust anyone else with it."

He nodded.

"Exactly. He is trustworthy. We've known him close to ten years now, haven't we? Lived with us for seven of them, and he hasn't changed in the three years the military had him. Not where it matters anyway.

"He wants to change the world, Riza, and I think he can do it. That dream, that goal alone will have him climbing the ranks quicker than anyone has seen in a very long time. If he won't, I'll make him climb the damn ranks."

Then, her father comically stopped mid-rant and asked her, "When do you think Samuel will let me out of here?"

"I don't know, but I can ask him."

"That's a bother. What about this? I feel like taking a walk. I'm missing my favourite season!" he insisted when Riza frowned.

"Wouldn't it be better to start walking inside your own home first?"

"But if I have you supervising, having a walk outside is the same as inside."

His argument was valid, but she thought he might be a bit overly optimistic. Nevertheless, she made a show of looking him over and decided on a compromise.

"No overdoing it," she informed him as he sat up.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Riza shook her head as she got out a change of clothes and set them on the chair.

"Do you need any help?" she asked as he undid the ties that fastened his night shirt.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Riza, I may be ill, but I'm not an invalid," he told her, exasperation in his voice. "Now leave and let me get dressed!"

She felt the corner of her mouth tug upward into a smile and picked up the pail of ash.

"Call out when you're ready," she said and shut the door behind her.

She quickly disposed of the wet ash and returned upstairs to her room to dress for their walk.

* * *

Standing on the ladder outside one of the second story windows, Roy wiped the sweat off his brow and studied his handiwork. The warped wooden frame was smooth and straight and any evidence of alchemy use was non-existent. Satisfied with the results, he came down the ladder and slid the two lengths together before carrying it over one shoulder.

When Roy walked past the paddock he saw Jun flicked her ears, but she didn't look up from the water trough even though he was sure she heard him. Wulf certainly did because he whickered a greeting and walked over looking for apples.

"Sorry, old boy," he told the gelding and freed one hand to rub the side of his muscled neck, "I don't have any on m—Hey!"

Roy dropped the ladder when sand struck his face. As he spat out sand that got in his mouth, he heard a snort and through tears saw the gelding shake his head. Both man and horse turned to the source of the sandstorm and glared at the horse in the neighbouring paddock.

Seeker, the four-year-old colt that Sara had recently taken to riding to and from her home, was trying to catch his mare's attention. Again.

"She's not interested," Roy shouted and the horse dropped back on all fours, trying very hard to look innocent and failing. Shaking his head, Roy gave Wulf a final pat before he hefted the ladder back onto his shoulder and returned it to its place in the shed.

As Roy made his way back to the house, he saw Riza upending a bucket into the ash bin. Before he could call out her name, she had already ducked back inside the house.

Ever since the night they shared a kiss, he and Riza were seldom in the same room as one another for more than five minutes save meal times, and even those passed in silence.

Sara was in the kitchen, slicing vegetables and humming when he walked in. He made a beeline for the water pitcher, poured himself a glass and drained it. He set the glass in the sink and was walking to his room when he heard footsteps approaching.

Riza was wearing a cream coloured blouse and a wine-red skirt that stopped mid-calf. Sadly, the leather boots she had on blocked his view of the rest of her legs.

"Roy," Riza greeted him. And for the second time in less than a quarter of an hour, she was gone before he could reply.

This time, Roy followed close behind and heard her scolding her father.

"—told me you'd wait."

"I got down those twenty steps without mishap."

Berthold was dressed in a simple brown suit and seated on the padded bench in the foyer.

"Ah, Roy. Perfect timing. We were about to go for a walk. Care to join us?"

His colour was a little up, but his master did sound better.

"Are you sure you're feeling up to it?"

"He burned one of the bookcases in his room to ashes," Riza said in a dry tone.

Roy's eyes widened and just stared at his master.

"_Old_ and _outdated_ alchemy texts," corrected Master Hawkeye from his seat. "Riza, do you know where my coat is? I can't seem to find it."

"It should be in the hall closet," Riza said, slipping past Roy.

Master Hawkeye gave a small shrug. "Maybe you'll have better luck finding it. Meanwhile, Roy and I will head over to the kitchen and tell Sara that we'll be gone for the next couple of hours."

Riza stopped in her tracks and turned around to face them.

"Half an hour."

"A full hour. If I'm tired before then," he continued before Riza could protest, "we'll stop and rest."

Riza shook her head and opened the closet. "You have it all planned out, don't you?" Roy caught her frown when she didn't see the elusive coat and started for the stairs. "Next you'll be telling me to fetch the hounds and your rifle." Riza turned to look at her father and exclaimed, "No!"

Roy turned to look at Master Hawkeye and saw a hopeful look on his face.

"You're not going to go hunt for rabbits. We don't even have dogs."

"I saw a couple in town yesterday," Roy told her.

Riza sent him a withering look.

"You're not helping," she hissed before turning to speak to her father. "We're just going to go on a walk so you don't burn the house down around our ears because you're bored." Riza, stormed up the stairs, muttering under her breath.

He didn't quite catch what she said, but seeing the older man wince, Roy was sure Master Hawkeye heard every word and they weren't flattering.

"Roy, will you go tell Sara that we will be gone for an hour?"

"Yes, sir." Roy looked down at his shirt and winced. "If I'm to join you on your walk, I think a change of clothes is in order."

Berthold glanced at his shirt and nodded.

"I believe that is wise," was all the older alchemist said.

Roy striped down to his underwear and pulled on a fresh set of clothes and grab his own coat before heading to the kitchen to relay Berthold's message to Sara.

Riza was still upstairs when he returned to the foyer. "What's happening between you and my daughter?" Berthold asked once he had returned.

Roy, who was in the midst of folding down the collar of his shirt, froze. He turned to face Master Hawkeye. "Sir?"

"Despite being bedridden for fourteen days and twenty hours, I still have eyes, Roy," he said, tapping the corner of one eye. "What are your intentions toward my daughter?"

Roy sighed. Trying to hide something from the man who knew both of them so well was impossible. He smoothed down his collar and chose his next words carefully.

"I… care for her, Master Hawkeye. I want to offer her more, but that is all she'll accept."

Master Hawkeye gave him a thoughtful look, but didn't comment. The silence was broken when Riza descended the stairs with his master's coat.

She looked back and forth between them, her eyes lingering on his for a moment before helping her father into his coat.

"Ah, thank you, Riza. Where was it?"

"In the chest at the end of your bed. A strange place for a coat."

Berthold coughed a bit and Riza narrowed her eyes. Her father ignored her.

"Well? Are we ready?" he asked them and lifted a familiar eyebrow that Roy recognised as one Riza used.

Roy nodded and when Master Hawkeye saw Riza's matching nod, he said, "Let's go then."

Riza walked ahead of them and chose a trail through the forest that was relatively flat except for the occasional fallen tree. Those, they just walked around. The foliage had turned to brilliant shades of red, gold and brown with the occasional green of the pines and firs. They saw a few squirrels and rabbits, and for a moment before they ran away, a doe and her fawn. They walked for what he judged to be nearly a kilometer before her father told them, a bit grudgingly, that he needed a rest.

They found a few fallen trees someone had arranged in a narrow 'v' formation a few metres off the trail and she and her father took a seat on one of them while Roy took his seat on the one across.

"You know, Roy," Berthold said once he took his seat, "when you know someone for as long as I have known you, you come to think that you know all there is about this person – like what his goals and motives are.

"With my own eyes, I've seen you grow as a man and as an alchemist and I liked what I saw. I had intended to bestow my research on you, but then you decided that in order to be of any help to your country you needed to be in the military and..."

He trailed off and Roy finished the sentence for him.

"And you were disappointed."

Riza let out an indelicate sound and Roy glanced her way.

"Disappointed is too tame a word for what Father felt. The day you left," she elaborated, "he was pacing back and forth and calling you several kinds of idiots in a number of different languages. And if I recall correctly, each accompanying curse was more inventive than the last."

The corner of Berthold's mouth quirked to form a rueful smile and Roy knew the older Hawkeye was recalling that same thing.

"That's one way to put it," he said. "I was furious. The thought of you putting my alchemy in the hands of the government makes my blood run cold. With you in the army, you would have no control over what you do with alchemy. If the pitiful thing we call a government told you to become a human weapon, you have no say in the matter unless you want to be court marshalled. Don't look at me like that," he said when Roy didn't quite hide his expression well enough. "It's not an impossibility. Don't tell me you haven't thought about that, boy. Give man power and he will abuse it."

Cynical, Roy thought, but if he looked back in the history texts, he would come to the same conclusion.

"It has crossed my mind, Master, but hearing it said out loud made it more tangible," he admitted.

Berthold nodded.

"I knew you weren't ready for the powers of flame alchemy. You didn't understand it when you left three years ago. I'm not sure if you truly understand it now."

"Master, I won't claim to understand the powers of flame alchemy, because I can't. What I do understand that it is not merely something one picks up when it's useful and put away when it's not. I understand that the ability to wield fire is like wielding a dangerous weapon. Control must be absolute and whether it is used for good or for ill is up to the wielder to decide."

"Perhaps you have a greater understanding of flame alchemy than either of us thought," his master said to himself. "Sara has tomorrow off so she and her family won't need to rush to catch their train," Berthold Hawkeye said after a moment's silence and stood up. Both Roy and Riza followed suit. "Tomorrow, come to the library after breakfast for your first lesson in flame alchemy."

* * *

For the rest of the day, Roy finished replacing the electrical wiring around the house while her father, much to his chagrin, was relegated to bed rest.

"If I recall, Father, you were the one who fried the telephone line three weeks ago when I suggested calling Dr Ganz."

"Exactly. If I broke it, I should fix it. Now-"

"Now, you'll stay in bed and rest until supper time. We'll fetch you then."

"Fetch-" He cut himself off and took a deep, calming breath. "Alright," he said. "Alright, I'll stay up here and behave."

Satisfied, she turned to leave, but then felt her father's hand on her arm. She raised an eyebrow in question.

"Will you sit in on the lesson tomorrow, Riza?"

"Father, I swear you just asked me if I will sit in on tomorrow's flame alchemy lesson."

"Only if you want to," he added quietly.

Riza rocked back on her heels. It made no sense. The tattoo on her back was one thing, but this…

"Why?"

"Knowledge is power," he quoted, "and power, control, my daughter."

Did she want to go? A resounding 'yes' filled her mind. But _should _she go? Knowledge was power, but it was also dangerous – for her and the world. Eventually, curiosity won and she nodded.

"I'll be there."

If Roy had been surprised to see her at his first lesson the next morning, he didn't show it. He took his seat at the table and her father handed him a piece of paper with an unfamiliar script on it.

"Have it memorised," the older alchemist said. "That piece of paper and any other papers I give you exists only in this room and only in my presence. Any written notes you make need to be destroyed at the end of each day. Discuss nothing of this beyond the walls of this house."

He handed Riza a copy as well and she recognised it as the text between her shoulder blades. Riza handed it back and her father promptly incinerated the piece of paper, letting the ash fall into the small pail Riza had prepared just for that purpose.

It was a salutation to fire, Riza recalled as she left to prepare lunch. Very well-written and very fitting, but that was all it was, a salutation. It told the alchemist nothing he wouldn't have already known: fire is beautiful, loyal and powerful but abuse it and it will become your worst enemy. Riza had looked up the poem once she could bear to look at the tattoo that marred her back for longer than a few seconds.

By the end of the session, Roy had memorised the poem was working on translating it. The ashes of his poem joined its twin's in the pail.

For weeks the process continued, her father would hand Roy a piece of paper and tell him to memorise it, Riza would glance at the piece of paper and give it back if it was something she had already figured out. If not, she helped Roy with his research, translation and decryption.

At the end of each day, her father and Roy would have discussions over the controversial methods Roy found. Those discussions later became debates that resulted in her father assigning him additional readings.

Not all of it was in Amestrian. Some of it was in Ancient Xingese and some of it was –

"When I die, I'm going to find the Drachman who wrote this and kill him again," Roy vowed and his forehead thumped against the tome he was poring over.

Riza looked over and saw that he had gone through a half of his share of books they had brought over to his desk that morning and glanced at the mantle clock. It was nearly noon. They had been at it for over four hours.

"You said that about the Xingese last week," Riza pointed out.

"But at least the Xingese scholars have the decency to write in a legible hand. These," he said indicating the stack of books he had gone through. "These look like they were written by drunks. Granted, they're brilliant drunks, but drunks nonetheless. You'd think alchemists would have neat handwriting with the precision that's a prerequisite to drawing arrays."

After a month, Roy and her father had gotten through, by her approximation, two-thirds of the tattoo. By then, the alchemical, chemical and physical knowledge required exceeded Riza's basic understanding, which was much higher than the average person thanks to her father's schooling, and she decided it was about time to leave the two alchemists to their world.

It wasn't because it was difficult that she didn't stay for the lessons, but because that knowledge was dangerous. Coupled with the instructions on her back, it would be too great of a risk and with it too heavy a burden. Perhaps that made her a coward, but it would be safer all around if she didn't know everything.

Still, she would look in on them every couple of hours to make sure her father's health hadn't gotten worse. Not that she'd thought that Roy wouldn't tell her if he noticed anything off, but when two alchemists were working on something, their entire focus is on their work and all discomforts were set aside.

With each day her father spent teaching Roy, he looked better than the last; his features more animated and Riza could almost see the man he had been before her mother's death. He was still immersed in alchemy, but this time around, he said a great deal more than ten words a day to her.

* * *

First uploaded: JUN 22, 2014


End file.
